Chapter 5
I squinted up at the rundown building. The rain splashed down on the windshield as my grip on the steering wheel tightened.
So many things needed to change. How could I expect people to want to visit and spend money in my store when the outside looked like the house in the Wizard of Oz that got caught in the tornado?
The edges of the rafters were rusted and lifeless—the paint long since washed away.
The forest green lettering on the front sign faded so you could only make out the last two letters.
My chest gave a sharp pang.
I’d barely slept a wink last night. Dragging my body out of bed this morning felt like my feet were laden with cement. Two cups of coffee later and I was still waiting for it to work its magic and banish the last vestiges of sleep from my brain.
Wishful thinking.
I’d fallen into a fitful sleep after dropping Rosie home.
The image of her dress slipping down her peach-cream skin had been playing on repeat.
But it was the look on her face that stole my sleep.
The look of exhaustion weighing down her body, the black circles under her eyes, like she’d barely slept for weeks.
When she’d quickly drifted off, I hung up her dress and messaged my brother to let him know she was safe. He and his girlfriend had both sent me a stream of texts about Rosie. I knew Oliver’s concern was less for her and more for the love of his life.
As the top striker in the country, all eyes were on him as the season drew to a close. Fallon tagged along to support him, knowing he was shitting himself over all the attention. No matter how cool he played it, I knew the pressure was getting to him.
Years of being hounded by the press hadn’t desensitised him to the coverage.
I actually think it did the opposite—especially with Fallon by his side.
She was getting followed by men with cameras as much as him.
Having every tabloid in the country write articles about them made him more anxious than usual.
I expected a few random calls here and there where he’d let off some steam or ask me to talk about something mundane to get his mind off practice or the upcoming match.
In the middle of the night, the last name I ever expected to flash up on my phone was hers.
My mind immediately flew to the worst alternative.
Someone was dead. Car crash. There was a meteor heading towards the earth.
My sleep-addled brain had the tendency to overreact.
The second her whispered voice filtered down the line, all of those catastrophes paled in comparison to the fear that sliced me to the bone.
That girl.
That fucking girl who had been avoiding me for the past two months was in trouble.
The same girl who’d stopped coming to dinners and games when she knew I’d be there. Who constantly invaded my thoughts since the first night we met.
The memory of the shadows under her eyes as I cleaned off her makeup had my fist flexing on the wheel. When was the last time she’d eaten a proper meal? The dirty dishes and piles of takeout containers told me it had to have been a while.
Not my problem. She’s not my problem.
She made that abundantly clear. Never once mentioning the kiss we shared that night in the pub over a year ago.
She’d acted like it never happened. Her nonchalance became so convincing that I’d almost convinced myself it hadn’t.
On the odd occasion when we’d been watching one of Oliver’s games, or out for dinner with Fallon, I opened my mouth to ask her about it—ask if she even remembered it.
The thought of her wrinkling that cute button nose and telling me she hadn’t even thought about it once, stopped me every single time. I couldn’t handle that.
I swiped a hand down my face, glimpsing the bags under my own eyes in the rearview mirror. It’s not like I had a leg to stand on. Life hadn’t exactly been going my way recently.
Pushing myself out of my truck, I stalked across the gravel car park.
Rain splashing down in a steady rhythm. I tugged on the collar of my shirt, pulling it up against the weather, and jogged the last stretch to the front gate.
Already unlocked, thanks to Steve, my oldest employee.
For a man in his sixties with three grandchildren—and another on the way—most days, he had more energy than I did.
The shop had been open for only twenty minutes, but the lack of cars out front and people milling about widened that crater in my chest.
‘Morning, boss,’ Steve called from a register off to the left. His grey hair hung in a long ponytail, tied with a bobble at the back of his neck. The bristled ends were damp from the rain, and the bright smile on his face was at odds with the gloomy day.
I dipped my head, shaking off the excess droplets, and headed over to him. ‘Morning Steve.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Long night?’
Obviously, my fatigue hadn’t been washed off in the scalding hot shower I’d forced my body into this morning.
‘Long week.’
He nodded sagely. ‘It’s a bit like that, innit? My Claire was up all night on the phone with our daughter. You’d think after three kids, she’d stop fussing.’ His weathered palms lifted to the ceiling. ‘I get more grey hairs every time she announces another baby.’
His chuckle was light and full of warmth.
‘You might get used to it by the sixth one.’ I patted him firmly on the back.
‘Lord, help me,’ he muttered.
A stack of papers lay scattered on the countertop. I jutted my chin towards them. ‘Has the shipment arrived yet?’
Steve cleared his throat, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.
‘Yeah. Not ten minutes ago.’ He rummaged through the stack, pulling out a crumpled slip and handing it over.
Immediately, my eyes zeroed in on the numbers at the bottom of the sheet.
Too many fucking zeros.
‘It, uh, it wasn’t the usual delivery.’ Steve glanced nervously from me to the paper clutched in my hand. ‘They only brought about half the stock we usually get. I tried to complain, tell ‘em we usually get way more, but when he handed me the receipt, I, uh, couldn’t really argue.’
I folded the piece of paper, shoving it into my back pocket. This time, my smile probably looked more like a grimace. ‘It’s the right amount.’
The words came out stilted. The truth was, since Cora’s wasn’t bringing in enough money, I couldn’t afford to purchase the usual restock.
Half of the last shipment went to waste, anyway.
The sight of bags and bags of mulch, flowers wilting in their trays, seeds and plants sitting in the stockroom, unused and unwanted, tightened the coil around my heart.
It wouldn’t be like this forever. I refused to accept that the store I’d dedicated nearly a decade of my life to setting up and running was crumbling before my very eyes.
I’d find a way to fix it—even if it killed me.
A young couple entered through the front, hand in hand. I gave Steve one last pat on the back as he shifted around the counter and went to greet them.
That’s one of the reasons I’d hired him when I first set up Cora’s. He was the friendliest person you’d ever meet—sometimes obnoxiously so. It made up for the fact that over the years, it became apparent his knowledge of flora was limited. He made up for it with sheer enthusiasm.
My to do list for the day was quickly stacking up as I headed to my office. I was halfway through mentally organising my day when my phone vibrated in my pocket.
For a second, my heart seized. It quickly started again when I caught sight of my brother's name on the caller ID.
‘How’s the hangover?’ I said, tone teasing.
A rough chuckle sounded. ‘Barely got a headache. Don’t know who I’ve become, man. We won, and I went back to the hotel with Fallon, and we ordered our body weight in pizza.’
‘Sounds like a good night to me.’ I unlocked my office door and sank down into my rickety desk chair. It let out a loud squeal of protest.
‘Speaking of good nights, you must have had a fun one.’ The sarcasm was heavy in his tone. ‘How’s the she-devil?’
‘She’s safe.’ I scratched my freshly trimmed beard, letting those last words sink in. She’s safe. That’s all that mattered. Probably still tucked up in bed. I swiped a hand down my face.
Oliver scoffed. ‘Fucking hell, that woman… I swear to God, she’s—’ He let out a groan, unable to find a nice way to finish that sentence.
Oliver and Rosie’s relationship had always been contentious. Mainly because of her fierce protectiveness over her best friend and her inability to take Oliver seriously. She’d called him a “football twat” so often that the word twat had lost all meaning by this point.
Hearing the borderline disgust in his voice made my hands freeze in the act of turning on my computer.
‘She just went out for a drink. Hardly a punishable offence.’ My voice was tight.
‘For the eighth night in a row.’
Okay, I wasn’t aware it had been that frequent. ‘Still not an issue from where I’m sitting.’
‘Yeah, you’d think differently if you had a girlfriend on the edge of a panic attack and ready to call an Uber to drive her back home from Wales, because her best friend is too fucking self-centred—’
‘Who shat in your porridge this morning?’ I snapped, effectively silencing his stream of consciousness. ‘Shouldn’t you be celebrating? You guys fucking won. The season’s over, you get your life back.’
Shifting his attention back to football pierced a hole in his frustration.
‘Yeah, and that wasn’t the best part of the night, man.’ Something like excitement sounded in his voice. I almost pulled the phone away from my ear to check if I was still on the phone with my brother, because the barely contained glee bubbling out of him was uncharacteristically concerning.
‘You finally beat your girlfriend in Mario Kart?’
‘Piss off. That’s not happening anytime soon.’
The two girls were freakishly good at that fucking game. I’d spent countless hours playing opposite them, and every time I inevitably lost, I was tempted to hurl the controller at the TV to the soundtrack of their laughter.
‘You gonna tell me or what?’ I pressed.
‘I asked her to move in with me.’
My fingers, that were about to pull up the accounting app on my laptop, froze.
‘You’re shitting me? What did she say?’
‘No.’ Oliver said easily. ‘Then she said yes, then no, then yes, and proceeded to get so overwhelmed she hid under a blanket for fifteen minutes.’ His tone softened immeasurably whenever he mentioned Fallon.
A soft chuckle worked its way up my throat. ‘What was her final answer?’
‘Yes. But she keeps changing her mind every half an hour or so.’
He launched into talking about his plans to buy a new house, and his ridiculous stipulations for their new abode.
It was easy to forget how rich my brother was since he didn’t flaunt it.
So on the odd occasion when his expensive taste came out, it took me a minute to adjust. Clearly Fallon’s constant flip flopping wasn’t affecting him, and honestly, I knew that girl.
She loved my brother in the way people dream about being loved.
Wholly, completely, and without judgment.
Regardless of her hesitancy, they’d work it out.
When his litany of requirements for their new house had reached the end, I leaned back in my chair. ‘You sound happy, man.’
He took a minute to answer. ‘I really fucking am.’ Warmth laced every word.
And that pain in my chest flared to life once more.